Knots
by Larking
Summary: An assortment of stories about Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. Pre-canon, takes place during an undetermined time between the end of Annie's Victory Tour and the point the books start. Rated M for language and sexual content. Two chapters thus far, more to come.
1. Constrictor Knot

_It's been a very long while since I've written a fic. Over my winter break I read the three Hunger Games books in as many days, and I wanted more but there isn't any, of course. "Knots" is going to be a collection of Finnick & Annie stories describing their relationship and the development thereof. This first chapter, "Constrictor Knot", is centered around Finnick. More to come. As always, constructive criticism is always helpful and appreciated. I hope you enjoy._

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><p>Finnick let out a weary sigh as the alarm went off. Like most nights, he had barely slept. He would have loved nothing more than to curl back up and pull the blanket up over his head to block out the rest of the world, like most mornings. However, he had a strict schedule to keep today.<p>

It was that time again; Finnick would be sent off to the Capitol to cater to the sexual desires of its select citizens, as President Snow bid him. He'd been at this for a few years now, but he wasn't sure if it had gotten any easier. On one hand, he had fallen into a bit of a routine with it, so he knew what to expect and what to do. On the other, with every appointment spent in the throes of 'passion' with a Capitolite, Finnick felt hollower, more distant. But it was too early in the morning to dwell on that. He had to pack up and head for the train station. Finnick sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it some kind of order. He would shower, shave, and properly get ready once he arrived in the Capitol, so that would have to do for now. Besides, it was so early he wouldn't run into anyone; at least, not anyone he felt the need to look nice for.

Within fifteen minutes, Finnick was ready and walking out the front door of his Victor's Village home. He looked out over the little neighborhood: a dozen bungalows, more or less identical, set in two rows facing one another, perched on a cliff. If you didn't think about what it took to make it, it was a great location to live. The cliff overlooked the ocean, but was up out of the way enough to be safe from the tides and storms. There was a path through fragrant natural gardens of lavender, moss roses, yarrow, and verbena leading down to a beautiful beach. Finnick spent a lot of time at the beach; sitting in the sand and tying knots over and over, or swimming out to the nearby cove, or fishing, or free-diving for mussels and oysters. It was days like today he wanted to be down there more than anything, but he knew he couldn't duck out of going to the Capitol, or even risk being late. The consequences did not bear thinking about.

Finnick was locking his door, taking a moment to make sure he had everything, when he heard another door closing. He turned and peered out over the Victor's Village, searching for the sound's source. His gaze ultimately settled on a house diagonal from his, on the side closest to the cliff face. There, he saw a young woman with long, dark hair making her way to the path down to the beach. Finnick's eyebrows furrowed as he watched her. He'd seen Annie Cresta here and there around the Village since she had come back from her Games and Victory Tour. He hadn't helped her on the tour, though he had mentored her some; she had only wanted Mags to go with her. Finnick could sympathize with that. He could also sympathize with being on the damaged side after surviving the Games, but he hadn't known any other victor to be quite as touched as Annie supposedly was. He guessed that was why she was up so early: unable to sleep due to some episode. It was nearly sun-up, so he figured she was heading to the beach to watch the sun rise. He could also sympathize with that; he had plenty experience finding himself unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and watching the sun rise over the water was one of few things that gave him peace. Finnick watched Annie meander down the zig-zagging pathway until she was out of sight before leaving for the train station.

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><p>As he boarded the train, a porter handed Finnick a slip of paper containing his schedule of appointments, sent down the line from President Snow himself. Finnick noticed this was to be a shorter visit than usual: five days instead of a full week. It was a double-edged sword; fewer days in the Capitol, but more appointments per day. He decided to eat before looking the plan over thoroughly. It was important, he'd learned, to really learn the schedule, since he needed to fit time after each client to prepare for the next. Reading it over in advance also told him who he'd be seeing, which helped him ready himself for whatever performances he'd have to put on during his stay. Still, the porter had told him they'd be stopping through District Two and then Seven before making their way to the Capitol, so he knew he had time.<p>

Finnick sat at the table and ate at a leisurely pace, idly sipping coffee and doing his best to eat a healthy amount. He didn't really feel like eating – he never did under these circumstances – but he knew he'd need the energy and that Mags would give him what-for if she found out he didn't eat during his Capitol trips. He had just finished and settled on a couch with his second mug of coffee when the train pulled into the station in Two. They did not linger; they were only picking one person up, and as soon as she was on board they were off. Finnick looked to the door as it slid open and the second passenger joined him.

Everything about Enobaria was dark. Her hair, her eyes, her tan skin, her personality, even her humor when she showed any sense of it. Still, Finnick liked her well enough, he supposed. She was certainly a bit too warlike, but teeth aside, she was an all right companion with whom to commiserate about being whored out by Snow. Enobaria made eye contact with him for a moment before grabbing an apple off the table and unceremoniously flopping down onto a chair adjacent to the couch Finnick was sitting on.

"Hey." Enobaria sighed.

"Hey." Finnick murmured back, sipping his coffee. They sat in silence for a while before he asked, "Do you know who we're picking up in Seven?"

Enobaria shrugged, sinking her sharp teeth into the apple, "Blight, I think is what the porter said."

Finnick nodded, relieved. If they were making a stop in Seven for another victor on one of _these_ Capitol visits, it would have to be Blight or Johanna. As much as Finnick got along with Johanna, he didn't think he had the energy for her this time around. Blight kept much more to himself.

"Got your appointment schedule?" Finnick asked. Silence always made these trips feel worse.

Enobaria held up her sheet of paper. "You?"

Finnick held up his. "How's your week look?"

She shrugged again, "Usual. Yours? Anyone special?" She asked with a wry smirk.

Finnick smiled ruefully, "A little busier than normal." He sighed and glanced over the schedule, "Nona Clovar... Elpis Lombard; she's the one with the purple spots… oh! Hippolyta Creech."

Enobaria crinkled her nose and let out a sympathetic chuckle, "Isn't she the one with-?" She held up her hands, tensing her fingers to resemble claws.

"Yeah, the three-inch nails."

"And always wears a tiara?"

"Yup…" Finnick sighed, running his hand through his hair. "And let's see…Gallus Hedrick. Eudocia Granger; she's not as bad. Mostly just wants to be told people like her. Uhh…oh," He grimaced, "Caesar Flickerman."

Enobaria groaned, "He's disgusting."

"Yeah…" Finnick shrugged, not wanting to dwell on Caesar Flickerman, whom he loathed entirely. "What about you? Who's buying the pleasure of your company this time?"

Finnick knew that the sort of people who sought out each victor were different. He mostly got women, and some men, who were middle-aged or a little older, looking to feel young and attractive again. A lot of unhappy, bored house-spouses seeking to unload their emotional issues and rekindle their libido via a living sculpture like himself. He knew that Blight got a lot of clients who weren't looking to be romanced, but rather to be taken wildly; Blight's standoffish demeanor and lumberjack looks appealed to that. Johanna got a lot of people looking to 'tame' her. Cashmere's takers were generally younger and male; the sort whose personality was too lacking to gain any ground in a real relationship. The really sick fucks took Cashmere and her brother, Gloss, together. Finnick knew that Enobaria got clients who were really into kink. Leather, bondage, whips, being subjected to some serious pain – the whole package. He supposed it was her black temperament that made her an appealing dominatrix. The teeth couldn't hurt, either.

"Florus Hearn, Agathon Pratt…" Enobaria read aloud, "Myrrine Trask. Ah, Formido Calvert, he's awful. He's enormous and he's got dyed red skin and these awful facial modifications." She bit harshly into her apple, "Oh, that couple, the Driscolls. Kallikrates and Iovita."

"Oh, yeah, I've got them down too. When are you supposed to see them?"

"Mm…day two, 21:00."

"Hey, yeah, same." Finnick shook his head, meeting Enobaria's eyes with a wincing smirk, "Looks like they've got an orgy planned again."

Enobaria rolled her eyes, "Must be a special occasion."

It wasn't long before they arrived in District Seven. Just as with Enobaria, as soon as Blight stepped on, they were moving again. And, just as with Enobaria, Blight came into the car with his own sheet of paper. Such was the routine. Finnick noticed that Blight looked even more haggard than usual. His hair was a mess, he hadn't trimmed his beard in a while, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Not that many victors slept well, of course.

Blight just stood in the doorway for a little while, his eyes downcast, as though he were in some sort of haze. His left hand twitched slightly, his thumb making a small stroking motion over the handle of a nonexistent axe. After a time, he raised his head and glanced over Finnick and Enobaria. If Blight could emote much anymore, one would be able to note that he considered his companions for this trip acceptable. His gaze settled on the breakfast table, laden with its fruits and pastries and cereals and drinks, and Finnick could see on his face that the same thought process – 'I don't feel like eating, but I guess I should' – was going through Blight's mind, as it had gone through his, and Enobaria's. Blight eventually settled on a piece of toast with raspberry jam, and coffee.

Enobaria, from her chair by the couch, eyed Blight, the slick _crunch_ of her teeth piercing her apple breaking up the silence. The horrible, crushing silence that only gave them time to think about what was ahead of them. The less you thought about it, the better. Finally, "The hell is up with you?"

Blight, from his chair at the table, looked up at her with an incredulous expression, as if that were the stupidest, most obvious question someone had ever asked. _Crunch_.

Knowing that he wouldn't respond further, Finnick then inquired, awkwardly, "So, uh, Blight, we uh…both me and Enobaria have this appointment with the Driscolls on day two…are you on there too?"

Blight gazed, weary, at Finnick for a brief moment before letting out a long sigh as he looked over his schedule. _Crunch._ He then looked up, wearier, and nodded.

Enobaria scoffed, "It must be costing them a fortune to have all three of us there at once." _Crunch._

Finnick gave a noncommittal expression and shrug. He could foresee that this trip, with Enobaria being more hostile and Blight being more drawn than usual, was going to be especially stressful. When victors made these Capitol visits, they had to stay together in one of the apartments that were, during Hunger Games time, typically used to house tributes and their mentors during training. Finnick figured Snow housed them there because they could be constantly watched, and to keep them thinking about the Games, and how badly they had damaged each of them. To remind the victors that despite their prowess in the arena, that he and he alone had power. That they couldn't escape. He also figured it was to prevent the victors from becoming too fond of one another by forcing them to constantly deal with one another; it's hard to make friends when you're a killer trapped with other killers. The apartment was just another arena. _Crunch._

Finnick felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Tension in the train car increased as silence fell heavily on their ears. Blight, Enobaria and Finnick sat, in silence, for the remainder of the train ride. Finally, after what felt like forever, they pulled into the Capitol train station. The doors all opened and a small escort of Peacekeepers waited on the platform, but the three victors sat for a few moments, silent and still, none of them wanting to leave the train. Getting off the train meant getting in a car. Getting out of the car meant getting to the apartment. Getting to the apartment meant getting cleaned up and ready. Getting cleaned up and ready meant getting to their appointments. Getting to their appointments meant getting to hate themselves more and more, getting ripped apart and crushed like they never did in the arena. _Crunch_.


	2. Carrick Bend Knot

_Here's chapter two! This one actually has some Finnick-Annie interaction. I wanted to explore how Finnick felt about Annie before he came to love her. So here's a snippet of that._

_A "Carrick bend" is a type of knot used to weave nets._

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><p>It was close to sunset. It wasn't until Finnick looked up and out over the water that he realized he must have been sitting there in the sand, weaving, for hours. The waves, which had been a few feet out when he'd started, were now brushing the tips of his toes. He slowly straightened his back and neck, tipping his head this way and that to stretch it out. Being doubled over the ropes had made him stiff and sore. Finnick winced as he flexed his fingers and massaged each knuckle, even sorer from the precise, repetitive movements required to weave a net. He sighed and looked down at his work. A large net for sure, but not as much weaving as he was usually able to do in that amount of time.<p>

"Did you finish your net?"

Finnick turned, much too quickly for his stiff neck, at the sound. Not an unfamiliar voice, but certainly an unexpected one. "Cresta?"

"Annie." She said, gathering her hair over one shoulder, "Have you finished your net?"

Finnick looked down at the tangle of rope in his lap, taken somewhat aback, "Ah…no, I, uh…" He found himself at a bit of a loss. Annie Cresta had never really talked to him, or anyone, much, let alone spontaneously like this. He didn't know Annie well, but he did know that she had sort of lost it during her Games. As such, she kept to herself for the most part, only ever reaching out to Mags occasionally. And no one ever reached out to Annie, Finnick included.

"What's it for?" She asked. Finnick looked her over, still a bit fuddled. She was wearing a cream-colored blouse with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and tucked into a flowy brown skirt that fell just below her knee. She was barefoot, and holding a small basket. Finnick noticed that, on her way down to the beach from Victor's Village, she had picked some of the wildflowers and woven their stems into the handle of the basket. That threw him off for some reason, and his brows furrowed as he continued to observe her. Annie's soft, sugar cube voice broke his reverie: "I see you weaving down here a lot. What do you need so many nets for?"

"I, uh…" Finnick shrugged and shook his head, looking at the net again, "I don't. Don't need them, I mean. I just…" It was true; Finnick weaved a new net at least once a week, but he didn't need them. One man didn't need more than two or three nets if he wasn't selling his catches. Finnick had one fishing net and one backup, in case the one he used ripped or was swept out by the water. But he kept weaving. He just kept making more nets. It was almost subconscious for a while: almost every day, he'd go down to the beach, sit in the sand, and weave for a few hours. It wasn't until he noticed that he had a net draped over every single piece of furniture in his house that he even realized he'd made so many. Finnick realized he was doing it because it was something he could control and concentrate on. Something that could take his mind off the horrible things he'd seen and done and will do. But he also realized he couldn't just fill his home with nets. So, whenever he finished a new one, he'd go down to the docks once the boats had come back in and leave the net on a random deck. He tried to pair the best nets with the boats that looked like they were in the roughest shape. That way, he could keep weaving to keep himself calm, and the nets would get used.

"I just…weaving gives me something to do, I guess." Finnick shrugged again, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He looked up at her again, with a raised brow, "What- what are you doing here?"

Annie smiled slightly, a sort of sad, wistful smile. She sat down with a gracefulness that surprised Finnick, settling down beside him and wiggling her toes into the sand, "I came to watch the sunset."

"O-oh…" Finnick murmured, unsure of what to say or do with himself. Why was Annie talking to him?

Annie gazed out over the water, smiling, seemingly in a bit of a delirium. Finnick sat there, hands and eyes lost in the rope, trying to figure out his next move. Or hers. What do you say to someone who's all messed up in the head like she supposedly was? Victors generally commiserate about the Games together, but Finnick knew that bringing them up would send her into one of her fits. What did the two of them have to talk about otherwise?

"Are you hungry?" Annie asked suddenly, almost causing Finnick to jump.

It didn't occur to him until she asked, but he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since that morning, and even then it hadn't been much. Some mornings, especially after a night fraught with nightmares, he found it hard to eat breakfast. "Ah, yeah, I guess."

Annie smiled gently at him, then turned to reach into her basket. She produced an apple, a seaweed bun, and a bundle containing dried smoked fish. Just typical Four stuff, but Finnick was oddly pleased about the options. He took a strip of the dried fish, and ripped a piece off with his teeth. Dried fish had to be chewed a while before it could be comfortably swallowed, so he wouldn't be expected to talk for a while. So they sat in the sand in silence, with the surf rushing to reach out and touch their feet, then rushing back in retreat, like a child playing a game. They both looked out over the water, where the bottom edge of the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. The sky blazed orange and pink around it, a sight made ever more brilliant as it was reflected off the glassy, dark ocean. A lot of people like to watch the dusks at the beach for the colors. Finnick, too, liked watching the sun set over the water, but not for the sky. Instead, he liked how the ocean seemed to grow darker and darker as the sun sank lower, going from a bright blue to a deep blue-green, then almost black, with silver streaks dancing across the waves, like a vast piece of obsidian shining in the light.

The sun was about halfway set when Annie broke their silence again, "Some stories say that the sun and moon used to live on the land, but the ocean forced them into the sky."

Finnick's features crinkled with confusion, "What?"

"The sun and moon got married, and built a house on the land. They invited their friend, the ocean, to visit, but he was so large he flooded the house, so the sun and moon had to climb up onto the roof. And that's how they got into the sky."

"Huh." Finnick mused, unsure of how else to respond.

Annie continued, "Another story says that the moon and the ocean were in love, but the sun grew jealous and moved the moon far away, among the stars. The ocean wishes to be with her again, so when the moon comes out at night, the tides rise; that's the ocean trying to reach the moon."

Finnick nodded. Where was all this coming from? Where the hell was she getting these stories? Did she actually read or hear about them from someone else, or was she making them up, spinning tales from her fractured mind? Regardless, he supposed they were nice enough stories.

"And a different story says that the ocean gave birth to the sun. But the sun burns so hot and bright that it can only live for one day. So, the ocean reabsorbs it every night, then gives birth to it again every morning." Annie said, trailing her fingers aimlessly through the sand.

They sat in silence again for a while. After a few minutes, the silence was broken again, but this time by Finnick, "I hear a lot of people – especially fishermen – argue about whether or not the ocean is a loving god or a cruel god."

Annie drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, resting the side of her head on her knees, gazing at him. Her green eyes were curious, and oddly calm, Finnick thought. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"Some people think that, overall, the ocean is loving and a giver of life. It provides fish and seaweed and shells and mussels and all manner of good things. It needs to be respected, but it loves human beings and wants to give us everything. But then some people think the ocean is angry and belligerent, or like some petulant child. It throws storms and whirlpools and waves at us, and tries to drown people with tricky currents and riptides. It's beautiful but it's dangerous; it has to be fought to get anything out of it. Like humans are in a constant war with it because it's trying to destroy us."

Annie hummed quietly as she mused over these new stories, looking back at the ocean again. After a little while, she looked at Finnick again and asked, "So what do you think? Do you think the ocean is kind, or cruel?"

The sun had just slipped below the horizon. He took a moment to consider. "Worse," Finnick sighed, "I think the ocean is indifferent."


End file.
